


Tabula Rasa

by justanothernameonthelist



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Conditioning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 08:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothernameonthelist/pseuds/justanothernameonthelist
Summary: Keen goes missing and Reddington wants her back! Slight AU (no Tom) set in the first half of S2 but with spoilers from later seasons! (cross-posted from FF.net with the same username)





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - I own nothing! I just like to take things out to play with them

A/N - This is the first fanfic I've ever published, so please forgive me if it's a little amateur-ish. I'm English, so I'm sorry if I get some of the American wrong (language, cultural content etc). Also, this is a slight AU - it takes place at some point in the first half of Season 2, but there's no Tom-in-a-boat. There are, however, likely to be spoilers for later seasons, so please don't read it until you're up to date, just in case.

xxxxx

Raymond Reddington stood in the middle of the yellow freight elevator, dominating the space, even if the only person there to witness it was Dembe, standing over his shoulder. A look of boredom played briefly over his face before he schooled it back to neutrality, his dislike of the rigidity and rules of the FBI at the forefront of his mind. He knew that his association with them was a necessary evil, one that had served his interests very well, but that didn't mean that he had to like every aspect of it.

As the elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors opened, Raymond let his eyes sweep the room, squashing the small feeling of disappointment when he saw that Agent Keen was not in attendance. Agent Ressler, however, was. He was in a seemingly frantic conversation with Agent Mojtabai, but as soon as he saw Reddington stepping into the room, he rushed over, a look of barely-controlled fury burning in his eyes.

"What have you done with her?" His demand was quietly venomous, but Reddington was unfazed, raising only an eyebrow, not dignifying the question with an answer.

"Keen! Dammit, Reddington, what have you done with Keen?"

"Done with her? Nothing! Why, do you think I should?"

"She's not shown up for work and she's not answering her cell. You took her home last night, so where is she?" Ressler levelled his gaze at the criminal and held it, not willing to let him get away without answering the question.

"I left her nice and cosy at that delightful motel she calls home." Reddington's tone stayed jovial, but the FBI agent caught the concern that flashed behind his eyes. "Maybe she overslept? Have you tried paying her a visit?"

"Of course I tried, I'm not an idiot, but the receptionist told me that she'd checked out weeks ago."

"Oh Donald!" Reddington let out a full-throated laugh. "Is this what this is all about? You're feeling put out because dear Lizzie didn't leave a forwarding address? Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be the scapegoat for your bruised ego."

"Reddington" Donald was growling now. "I need you to tell me where she lives now. If she's overslept, fine, I'll take the blame, but if something's happened to her then we need to know, and quickly." The older man pursed his lips for a moment, obviously weighing up his options, before he nodded curtly.

"Fine, but we take my car."

xxxxx

The drive had been uncomfortable and awkward but mercifully brief. Ressler had stared broodingly out of the window, ignoring Reddington's eyes as they attempted to bore into the back of his head. The two of them had barely spoken two words since leaving the Post Office, with Reddington making no secret of his dislike of his travelling companion.

The motel, when they arrived, was seedier than Keen's original accommodations. But at least, Reddington assured him, the rooms were much less pleasant. Ressler asked why she had moved, but Reddington just laughed briefly and derisively, as though it should be obvious.

As they approached Agent Keen's room, something seemed off to Reddington, though he couldn't have said what. He held out his hand, stopping Ressler from proceeding, and drew his pistol, the agent following suit. Reaching out, Reddington grasped the doorknob, turning it slowly and cautiously. The door opened and swung into the room, obscuring their view.

Only a few steps into the room, Reddington froze, almost causing Ressler to walk straight into him. Donald took a moment to look around at the scene of chaos spread out in front of them. There had obviously been some kind of struggle, with furniture upended, curtains ripped from the windows, and a ceramic lamp smashed on the floor. It took a moment for him to see what had caused the other man to freeze – a sizeable pool of almost-dried blood was spread out across the bed's dark brown blanket, the colour making it much less obvious than it should have been.

"Reddington" Ressler touched his arm, gently. "We need to get the techs in here straight away. We will find her." He looked at Reddington, saw his slack-jawed look of shock, his eyes on the verge of tears, and he actually felt sorry for the man.

"Reddington, we  _will_  find her."

xxxxx

By the time AD Cooper and Agent Navabi arrived at the scene, Reddington had left. He'd barely said a word, but there had been an air of purpose surrounding him when he departed. A small part of Ressler almost pitied the people who had taken Keen when he caught up with them. Almost.

The crime scene techs went through the motel in minute detail, collecting every sample, every fingerprint, and every little bit of evidence, all the while with one or other of the agents breathing down their necks. When they finally left the scene, a figure in the shadows watching the building flipped open a cellphone and quickly dialled.

"It's all yours."

Within moments an unassuming white van pulled up outside. Mr Kaplan hopped out of the front seat and slid the side door open, allowing four private crime scene techs to jump out.

"You are to go over every inch of that room. The FBI has checked it once, but they don't have the resources we have." And with that they set to work.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment, when Elizabeth woke up, everything seemed ok. And then it all hit her; the acidic pain in her side, the ache in her head, the grinding discomfort in her shoulders from where her arms were pulled back and bound too tightly behind her, her hands tied tightly to her ankles, causing another dull ache in her hips. Panicking slightly, she gulped down several large breaths of air, coughing from the shooting pain in her ribs. She fought to calm her breathing, trying to figure out what had happened.

She'd gone straight to her room when Reddington had dropped her off late at the motel, in a bad mood after a long, trying day. She'd been irritated further by the extractor fan in her bathroom making an horrendous noise, but she hadn't wanted to get the super to come and fix it, so she hit it with the heel of her boot until it fell off the wall. It had left a drafty hole that made her shower less than pleasant, but she was beyond caring. After a quick, chilly shower, she had flung herself down on the bed and turned on the small television, planning on ordering takeout, but drowsiness caught up with her quickly and she had fallen asleep with some late night comedy show still blaring. She had patchy memories after that of fighting off a group of assailants, but they seemed more like fragments of a bad dream, distant and indistinct. She wondered if she'd been drugged.

Opening her eyes, Elizabeth tried to look around. She was lying on her side, her face pressed into a scratchy carpet that was stained an unpleasant red-brown colour. She couldn't move her head easily, but from what she could see it was obvious that she was being held in a shipping container, the tell-tale corrugation showing signs of rust.

A rustling noise behind her warned her that someone else was in there with her, but that was all the warning she had before they punched her hard in the side of her head and the darkness swallowed her once more.

xxxxx

There was light shining through Elizabeth's eyelids this time when she woke up. She felt warm and comfortable, most of her pain gone except for a dull ache in her ribs. She was lying in a bed now, the pillows soft against her cheek, in contrast with the rough carpet from the container. She moved to rub her face but found that her arms were restrained, so she slowly opened her eyes, blinking until the world came into focus.

The room was bright and clean, but Elizabeth could see the heavy-duty door and the small barred window. There was no doubt in her mind, this was a cell.

As she lay there, the door opened and a plump, blonde lady, wearing a pristine white suit and six inch heels, walked into the room. She picked up the clip board from the end of the bed and stood there silently reading for a few moments. Nodding, apparently satisfied, she set the board back down and walked up to the head of the bed, peering down at Elizabeth.

"Well, aren't you a cutie?" The woman's strong Texan drawl had a sweetness to is, and there was a kindness in her eyes too, but also something strict and hard. "I'm afraid we had to keep you in a coma for a few weeks to let you recover, but it looks like you're doing well now. What's your name sweetie?"

Elizabeth stayed silent, not wanting to give the woman who was keeping her captive the satisfaction.

"I said, what's your name?" Her face had hardened, but she still received no reply.

Stepping up to a panel on the wall by the bed, she pushed something and Elizabeth's body was suddenly racked with burning agony. When it stopped the woman made her way back down the bed and perched on the edge, looking back up.

"That's what happens any time you lie to me or refuse to answer a question. It's a short-lived toxin that the body does not build a resistance to. You won't get used to the feeling dear, so don't even try and tough it out. So, I'll ask again, what's you're name."

"Elizabeth Scott Keen" her voice was hoarse but steady.

"See, that's not so hard, is it? Only, I think you may be mistaken. Your name isn't Elizabeth anything, is it dear? I think you'll find that your name is Nothing."

"No, it's Elizabeth" her body was filled with agony once more.

The lady kept asking Elizabeth her name, and every time she answered with anything other than "Nothing", the lady pushed the button and her world dissolved into white heat. Eventually, she couldn't stand it any longer. A part of her was ashamed at how easily she gave in, but the pain caused by the toxin was too much to bear.

"What's your name darlin'?" The woman's voice was as sweet now as when they had started, although lower and filled with victory.

"Nothing" Liz's voice on the other hand was rough and weak from screaming and resignation.

"See, doesn't that feel better? And you may call me Miss."

Not long after, Miss came with two burly men and took Liz from the bed, dragging her to a small, windowless cell. She was too weak to stand, so she slumped to her knees as soon as they let her go. There wasn't a bed in this room, only a thin mattress and a bucket in the corner. Liz didn't need to be told what that was for.

The men shoved a needle back into her arm and covered it with a metal cuff that was padlocked into place. She had no way of removing the line that would feed the poison into her body, she was stuck,

"Now, sweetie, let's set a few ground rules, just so we all know where we stand?" Miss was leaning against the doorframe now, her two goons behind her. "If you behave yourself then you'll be given a bed again. You'll get to have a nice, comfy room, and we might even trust you not to need the line. If you don't behave yourself, however, then we can make you so much less comfortable, your life could be very unpleasant. It's entirely up to you dear, you'll only ever be punished if you choose not to behave."

With that, Miss left the room and closed the door, plunging Liz into complete darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - Sorry, this story is pretty disjointed, but I was trying to write a lot of development and a large time-frame into a comparatively short amount of story, so I ended up approaching it a bit like a montage. I hope it's worked, but I apologise if it makes it hard to read.

xxxxx

After a couple of months, the FBI's investigation was going nowhere. Forensics had turned up nothing of any use at the motel and all of the team's contacts were coming up empty. Cooper was beginning to lose hope, although he kept that to himself. He was getting increasing amounts of pressure from his superiors to wrap up the case, to move on and get results, whilst his team ran into dead end after dead end.

Reddington had only made contact a handful of times, each time more interested in finding out what the team knew than in sharing anything that he knew. Cooper wondered if he was covering up his own lack of information. It felt like Agent Keen had somehow disappeared off the face of the earth, and he just couldn't fathom it at all.

He managed to persuade Reddington to come in for a meeting and gathered the team for a briefing.

"We have a problem" he announced to the assembled group. "I am being pressured to move on from our search for Agent Keen and start to bring in more Blacklisters. If I don't, I'm afraid that they're going to shut down the taskforce altogether."

"Well I'm sorry, Harold." Reddington sounded anything but sorry. "It was always a part of my agreement that I would only deal with Elizabeth with regards to the Blacklist, and that still stands."

"Don't be an idiot!" Ressler had been quiet up until that point, but his voice was low and his face was red with anger. "If you leave then the taskforce will be forced to disband. Keen's disappearance will get handed off to some overworked pencil-pusher, and we won't have a say in what happens. If you stay with us, help us with other cases, then we can pool our resources, carry on investigating along side our other work."

Reddington considered Ressler's argument for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek and looking at each of the taskforce members in turn.

"Very well" he nodded. "I'll continue for the moment, but I'll decide who my new contact will be and let you know shortly." With that he turned on his heel and walked to the lift, Dembe shadowing him as always.

xxxxx

It didn't take Liz very long to lose track of time. The darkness of her cell meant that she had no feel for night or day, and she could determine no real pattern to when the guards brought her meals or when Miss came by to see her.

She knew that she wasn't getting enough to eat as she was constantly hungry and cold, and the guards loved nothing more than waking her up after only a couple of hours' sleep so that she was forever too tired to think straight. She was very aware that these were techniques used in both interrogation and brainwashing, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier for her to bear.

xxxxx

Everyone was shocked when Reddington decided that his new contact in the taskforce would be Agent Mojtabai, no one more so than Aram himself. Ressler argued vehemently that an active field agent should be chosen, like himself or Agent Navabi, but Reddington was adamant, and so Aram Mojtabai suddenly found himself at the beck and call of one of the FBI's most wanted criminals. He was not convinced that this was a good thing.

xxxxx

She dreaded Miss stopping by. It either meant that she was going to be punished for some small infraction, or that she was going to be taken for what Miss affectionately called her Lessons. These Lessons involved Liz being strapped to a chair, injected with some cocktail of drugs that made her feel woozy and spaced out. She could never remember what happened after the drugs kicked in, only coming back to awareness sometime later as she was dragged back to her cell.

xxxxx

Aram rarely spoke to Reddington himself. Usually Dembe would phone him with a name or stop by the Post Office to deliver information about their next Blacklist target. On the rare occasions that Reddington made direct contact, Aram had the feeling that he ended up giving away more information about their cases than he ever obtained. He often wondered if that was why he had been chosen as his contact, because he could be so easily manipulated. But he hoped that, whatever weaknesses he may have, his new role would allow him to help them find Agent Keen. He prayed that they wouldn't be too late.

xxxxx

Sometimes, after her Lessons, if she had done well, Miss would stop with her and tell her stories. They'd often be fairy tales and, to Liz's drug-addled mind, they were extremely comforting, a brief moment of beauty in an otherwise bleak existence. She began to look forward to these moments, crave them almost, and she started hoping that she'd do well at her Lessons so that she could hear more stories.

xxxxx

It soon became clear to the taskforce that Reddington was using them to find information on Keen. He handed them name after name at a greatly accelerated rate, but each blacklister that they hunted down turned up beaten or dead; burnt, bloodied, and broken. They had been tortured as Reddington cut a bloody swathe through the criminal underworld, relentless in his search for information. Nobody on the team really cared, not if it meant finding her.

xxxxx

In her more lucid moments Liz would repeat her name to herself like a mantra. She never saw anyone other than Miss and her guards, and they would only ever call her Nobody, so she desperately tried to cling on to who she was, to the faces of her friends, to the life she had with Reddington and the Bureau.

xxxxx

Slowly Reddington made less and less contact with the team and there were rumblings that the investigation into Liz's disappearance would be shelved entirely. Even within the taskforce there had been an increasing number of people who considered her dead by now, although nobody would ever say it out loud. There had been no indication of what had happened to her, even with every team member exhausting every lead that they could think of. Even Aram, who had staunchly argued at every possible opportunity that she was alive, that she had to be alive, was starting to have doubts.

xxxxx

Not matter how hard she tried, it didn't take her long, between tiredness, hunger, and the cocktail of drugs, for her to start forgetting. It started with the faces of her colleagues, her friends; soon she couldn't bring to mind Aram's puppy-like look of joy or Samar's knowing smile, Donald's stern disapproval or Cooper's paternal look of pride. Their names followed soon after, and not long after that she finally forgot her own name.

xxxxx

Nobody had heard from Reddington or Dembe for weeks now and protocols were starting to be initiated to wind up the work of the taskforce. Aram was now far busier with archiving and shutting down systems than any other duties, and his days were long and boring. He was cycling home from the Post Office late one evening when a black sedan pulled up alongside him, the window sliding down smoothly. Dembe's face peered out into the dark, looking far more tired and care-worn than it had mere months ago. He reached out and handed the agent a slip of paper with an address written neatly on it.

"Come here in two hours. Alone." Dembe drove away.

xxxxx

There was one thing that she still remembered, that stayed with her long after everything else had left her. A man's voice, calm, deep, reassuring, that echoed around her head. She couldn't remember who he was, but she knew that he was coming for her.

"You have me. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

xxxxx

Aram pulled up to the safe house late, it had taken him far longer to cycle there than he had expected. Dembe was waiting for him at the door and ushered him inside, indicating for him to be quiet. He showed the technician into a small, dimly lit library. Aram could just make out the figure of a man slumped in one of the arm chairs, empty bottles of scotch lying discarded on the floor around him, a cigar left smoking and forgotten in an ashtray off to one side.

"Agent Mojtabai, what a pleasant surprise" Reddington's voice was tired and raw, his words slightly slurred. "I assume Dembe told you to come. He seems to think it'll do me some good."

xxxxx

When Miss was satisfied that she had successfully completed her Lessons, she was moved on to Training. Miss wanted her to learn what she called "little social niceties"; how she was to behave from now on, how to endure whatever discomfort was required of her, how to be exactly what was wanted.

xxxxx

Aram visited Reddington a number of times over the next few weeks. He was concerned that the older man's resolve was failing; he looked tired and drawn, rarely shaved, and he was drunk more often than not. Reddington rarely talked on these visits, but Aram tried to engage him by discussing goings on at the Post Office, what the taskforce members had been getting up to, anything that he could come up with. It never worked, but he still tried.

xxxxx

Miss didn't tell her fairy stories any more. She no longer needed beauty or hope. Blank slates didn't need comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - So, this should be back to a normal pace again now. There's no Keen in this chapter, but she'll be back again soon enough.

xxxxx

"Mr Reddington, if you don't bring us a new Blacklister in the next week then we will be closing down the taskforce and they will start hunting you down." Aram's voice held a note of pleading desperation that he didn't try and hide.

"Let them hunt me then." These were the first words Reddington had spoken to the FBI tech for several days. His voice was full of despair and resignation.

"You can't mean that? If they shut us down then we won't be able to find Agent Keen. Agent Navabi will go back to Mossad, Agent Ressler will be hunting you again, Mr Cooper will probably be retired, whether he likes it or not, and I'll be sent back to running virus checks and email hacks." He took a deep breath, swallowing down his emotions, before carrying on. "And Agent Keen will be lost to all of us for good."

"I think you should leave Agent Mojtabai." There was a dangerous edge to Reddington's voice and Aram quailed at his tone, gathering his things and holding his messenger bag tight to his chest. He turned to leave and then paused.

"You need to stop this self pity" Aram's voice quavered as he turned back to the older man, but he held his chin firmly. "I get that it hurts, it hurts me too, not knowing what's happened to Agent Keen. There's this big, dark, gaping hole inside me and I wake up every morning wondering how I'll carry on, but you know what? I do. I carry on.

"I know that you only chose me as your contact in the team because I'm scared of you and because you thought I could be easily manipulated, and you're probably right. But right now you're the one being the coward Mr Reddington, and I'm going to come here every night and tell you about everything that you're throwing away while you hide at the bottom of that bottle."

Aram ducked out of the door before Reddington could retaliate.

xxxxx

The mood in the Post Office the next day was maudlin. Agent Ressler was the only person there in a remotely good mood, largely because he knew Reddington's days were numbered, but even his pleasure was tinged strongly with sadness at the end of the taskforce.

Agent Navabi was concerned about Aram as he'd been jumpy and on edge all day, but he kept denying that anything was the matter. She wondered if the stress of the changeover was getting to him, but she was worried that there was something more to it than that.

As the afternoon drew on the offices at the blacksite got quieter until only AD Cooper, Agents Navabi, Ressler, and Mojtabai, and a handful of guards remained. Just as they were gathering their belongings to leave, the elevator shuddered to a halt and the unmistakable form of Raymond Reddington walked into the room.

"Am I late to the party?" Reddington's voice was jolly, but he was smaller and more tired than any of them other than Aram seemed to remember. Aram instead noted that he had at least shaved since the day before, and some of the old, familiar spark had returned to his eyes, which gave him hope.

"Reddington, I hadn't expected to see you here." Cooper played down the surprise he felt as he spoke. "Have you come to see us off or hand yourself in so that Ressler can have a vacation?"

Reddington laughed. "Harold, whilst I'd love to pack dear Donald off to some distant island, I'm afraid I've got a Blacklister, or rather several Blacklisters, for you all." He handed a file and a memory stick to Aram, who loaded up the relevant information up on his computer, projecting images and information onto the main screen.

"May I present the victims of the Charon, or at least some of them." He indicated a number of missing persons posters flashing up on the screen. "Named after the ferryman on the River Styx in Greek mythology, the Charon are specialists in forced disappearance. They're a mercenary group who are experts at abductions, and their unique selling point is that they take their victims in such a way that they leave behind no trace of either their presence or any kind of crime. The kidnapped party simply vanishes, spirited away into the criminal underworld.

"Because of their modus operandi, I had discounted them for their involvement in Elizabeth's case – it was all too sloppy to have been them. However rumours have been circulating recently that their cachet has fallen due to a bungled operation six months ago, something about a target waking up and fighting back, and this changes everything."

"You think that the rumours could be about Keen's abduction?" Cooper asked the question that everyone else had been thinking.

"I think that it's possible." Reddington took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Despite the obvious signs of a struggle at the motel, neither your people nor mine could find any evidence of the people responsible. She had, however, broken the extractor fan in her bathroom, and that would have provided unaccounted for ventilation in the room which, combined with Elizabeth's determination, could have been how she was able to put up such a fight."

"So, how do we get to them?"

"I've reached out to an associate of mine who has set up a meeting with their representative; I intend to hire them to carry out a little business for me. The meeting is set to happen at an underground event, let's call it a party of sorts, that's happening in two days time. I'll be in attendance, of course, with Agent Mojtabai as my personal assistant, but there can be no other FBI presence at the site. The people who run this event are smart, far smarter than anyone you have matched wits with before, and they will smell law enforcement a mile off."

The discussion went back and forth for a while, but eventually Cooper reluctantly agreed to Reddington's plan. Aram opened his mouth to protest, but Reddington got there first.

"Now, Aram, you and I have some shopping to do, you absolutely cannot be my assistant in a cheap polyester suit."

As the two of them were leaving the Post Office, Reddington pushed the emergency stop in the elevator and turned to the agent.

"Agent Mojtabai, last night you accused me of choosing you as my contact because you are scared of me and because I thought you'd be easy to manipulate. I'd like you to know that you're wrong and I resent your implications. I chose you because, whether you realise this about yourself or not, you are the most fiercely loyal, passionate, dedicated member of this taskforce. You proved that last night, when you were willing to face me down and remind me that the only way to get Lizzie back is to fight for her. I am in your debt, Aram, I thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

"What the hell is this place Mr Reddington?" They had made their way to a warehouse on the outskirts of Boston. Reddington had seemed unsurprised by the amount of security, but Aram would have been a lot less nervous if their weapons hadn't been confiscated when they arrived. As he waited for the reply, he shifted nervously in his new suit, uncomfortably aware that it had cost more than he would earn in a month on his salary.

"Like I said, it's a party of sorts. It's fondly known as the Selling Room, and it's where some of America's most prolific criminals come to buy and sell their wares and services. There's a policy of non-violence that is very strictly enforced." Red nodded at the large number of heavily armed guards patrolling the establishment.

"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

Reddington cocked his head and looked at the younger man. "Quite so, Aram, quite so."

Settling themselves at the bar, they ordered drinks and scanned the room. All around them couples and groups drank, talked, and danced, only quietening when a well-dressed man walked up to a podium on a stage at one end of the room.

"Oh, goody" Reddington's voice was dry and sarcastic. "It looks like we've arrived partway through an auction."

"What's wrong with an auction? It doesn't sound any worse than what's going on all around us." Aram had noticed a number of whispered conversations and huddled transactions throughout the room.

"Unfortunately, there is only one form of commodity that is auctioned off so publicly here, and it's also the main reason why I refuse to come here under normal circumstances."

As they spoke, a small group of women was led onto the stage, shackled and wearing nothing but their undergarments. It took Aram a moment to make sense of the scene.

"People? They're auctioning people?" His was voice quiet, but there was a horror in it that he couldn't hide. "Can't we do something?"

"You know we can't. If we even attempt to stop this, then we'll lose the chance to meet with our mark and all hope of finding out what happened to Elizabeth will be lost. I understand that it's distasteful, and I fully intend to assist in any way I can in ending this abhorrent business, but that is simply not possible right now."

Aram nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on the bar, not able to watch the horrific spectacle taking place on the stage. Instead he sipped slowly at his water, trying to ease the rising nausea in his stomach, his new designer suit feeling too tight and stiff. He hoped that they didn't have to wait long for their meeting, he didn't know how long he could stand it.

xxxxx

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, our final lot." The room hushed expectantly as the auctioneer made his announcement, but neither of them looked to see why. "I know that a lot of you have come here tonight to bid on this particular item, and I'm rather excited about it myself, so I expect the bids to be high.

"Lot number 665, Masha Rostova," Reddington's glass froze on it's way to his mouth, something that did not escape Aram's notice, "daughter of the KGB agent Constantin Rostov and the legendary Katarina Rostova."

"No" Reddington almost breathed the word, his face showing his shock for the briefest moment before it hardened to steel, his eyes burning with rage. Aram turned to look at what had caused the criminal to react, and his mouth fell open at what he saw on the stage.

Standing there unbound, but otherwise dressed the same as the previous lots except for some sort of cuff around her left arm, was Elizabeth Keen. Both men were horrified to see how skeletally thin she looked, her hair hanging lank around her too-sharp facial features, and her skin showing a translucency that suggested that she hadn't seen daylight in months.

"...to be willing, biddable, and compliant, making her an ideal broodmare." Reddington's grip on his glass tightened as the auctioneer continued. "Other programming options are available at an extra cost."

Then, as an armed guard wandered too near to the bar, Reddington exploded into action. Punching the guard in the throat, he disarmed the choking man before he could even make a sound. He then proceeded to shoot several guards, including his original victim, and the auctioneer, who slumped over the podium, his dying gasps broadcast to the room over the speakers.

"If you leave now, you will not be harmed" Reddington shouted, as several patrons fled, "but not you. You stay!" He was addressing a plump, blonde lady in a frilly white suit and clasping a matching white purse, who was stood off to the side the stage. Aram hadn't noticed her until then. The lady in white had been edging towards the back of the stage, leaving her merchandise standing on her own. He realised that his colleague hadn't moved during what was happening, she was still stood with her hands clasped in front of her, chin up but eyes downcast, seemingly unaffected by the gunfire.

"Are you planning on buying her then dear?" The plump woman made her way back to the centre of the stage as she spoke. "I'm sure that I could come up with a good deal for a handsome man like you."

Red's barking laugh echoed through the now-silent room.

"Buying her? Really? I'm afraid that you misunderstand my intentions here. I plan on leaving here with this lady, with no money changing hands. The choice that you need to make is whether you plan on letting me or if I have to shoot you first."

She looked around the room, obviously trying to work out what her best option was. Eventually she sighed, evidently realising that she had no hope of escape.

"Fine, you win, but if you want her to come with you then you'll have to let me speak to her first."

Reddington nodded his ascent and she walked over to the other woman and whispered to her hurriedly. Neither of the men could hear what she was saying, but they could hear the quiet response of "Yes, Miss", repeated, without emotion, several times. Watching the whole scene, Aram wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but he felt like his heart was breaking.

Eventually the lady nodded and, loudly enough for the room to hear, said "now, stand very still dear," before she went to embrace her captive, who didn't return the gesture. Suddenly several shots rang out in quick succession and Keen faltered, as the lady stood back, holding a small revolver that had been hidden in her purse.

At the same time a detachment of armed guards ran into the room, allowing the woman to flee. Reddington exploded into action, taking several of the men down before they could even get a shot off. He moved through the room like a force of nature, his eyes burning with unrestrained fury, gunning down anyone who moved. Aram could not have explained how Reddington managed to avoid getting hit, but somehow he went unscathed.

When the danger was eventually over, they ran to the stage, Reddington getting there first. To their shock and horror, she still hadn't moved, despite the blood streaming down her side. She was even paler than before, and swaying, her eyes glazed and unfocussed. Reddington got there just in time to catch her as she collapsed.


	6. Chapter 6

Things were no less fraught in the car as Dembe piloted them swiftly away from the warehouse. Reddington pressed Aram's hands firmly onto her side to try and staunch the bleeding, while he made a phone call. After a hurried conversation, he leaned over and gave Dembe an address before turning his attentions back to her while the car made its way rapidly through the streets.

"Stay with me Lizzie, there's a good girl! Come on, stay with me. Lizzie!" Reddington's voice grew more insistent as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Dembe kept reassuring his friend that they would arrive soon, but it didn't stop the subtle note of panic that crept into his voice.

"I'm sorry Mr Reddington, but shouldn't we be taking Agent Keen to a hospital?" Aram was still putting pressure on her torso, his expensive designer jacket balled up in his hands to help.

"Absolutely not. We can't guarantee Elizabeth's safety in a public institution. My people can provide her with exceptional medical care and guarantee her safety."

After a few minutes the car pulled up outside a boxing gym and she was carried inside on a gurney by medical personnel. Aram found himself being ushered inside too, and he marvelled at the sight – an entire operating suite had been set up where the ring would be, sealed off by large sheets of plastic. Surgeons were already getting prepped and scrubbed whilst an anaesthetist was tending to her.

"Raymond, what happened to her?" A short, strict-looking woman, who Aram didn't recognise, walked straight up to them, concern etched into her face. He wondered if this was the Mr Kaplan that Agent Keen had mentioned in the past.

"I have some ideas Kate, but I can't be certain right now." Mr Kaplan nodded before going to talk with one of the nurses.

xxxxx

After calling Agent Cooper with Reddington's blessing, Aram settled in to wait while the doctors did their work. He must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing he knew there were voices, quiet but excited, coming from an office on the other side of the operating theatre. He stood up, easing a crick in his neck, and edged closer.

"For goodness sakes Raymond, I have been looking after that poor child since she was a babe in arms." Mr Kaplan's voice was hard and unrelenting, and even Aram could tell that this was a fight that Reddington was unlikely to win.

"Fine, but I insist on doing as much as is appropriate. It's imperative that she learns to trust me, and I suspect that you'll have trouble getting her to cooperate without my assistance."

Aram made his way back to his chair, trying to make sense of what he'd heard, but he didn't have long to think as Harold Cooper strode commandingly into the room, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

"Agent Mojtabai," Cooper's voice echoed around the gym, making several nurses jump. "Where is she?"

"She's still in surgery, sir. I, erm, I don't know how long they're going to be."

"Harold!" Reddington's voice boomed even louder than the Assistant Director's. Aram was beginning to get a headache. "Thank you for coming. Elizabeth is in the capable hands of my surgical staff right now, I'm sure we'll be getting an update shortly, but in the meantime, we have much to discuss." He ushered Cooper into the office and shut the door.

xxxxx

"Are you sure that this is the best plan Red?" Scepticism was etched into every line on Cooper's face.

"Absolutely sure. Until we can be certain who did this to Elizabeth then there's a very real chance that she could still be in danger. Plus, I'm afraid that the people behind the Selling Room might be interested in regaining the commission that they lost from selling her."

"We can help you to look after her and keep her safe."

"I've no doubt, Harold, but with everything she's been through, I believe that it is best to limit her contact to only a couple of people, at least to begin with. I will, of course, provide you with regular updates, and you will be allowed to see her as soon as she is up for company."

Cooper opened his mouth to say something else but was cut off a knock at the door. Before either man could say anything, the door opened and Mr Kaplan marched in, followed closely by the surgeon and Agent Mojtabai. The doctor was the first to speak.

"She's out of surgery and doing well. Her injuries were relatively superficial, although her lack of body fat meant that she's sustained more damage than she ought to have, which has taken us a while to fix. But she'll be awake within the hour and she should be back on her feet in the next couple of weeks, with some care."

"How is she otherwise?" Aram surprised the others by speaking up first.

"Well, she's very malnourished, and severely lacking in vitamin D, but otherwise she's in fair health. There's no obvious sign of other recent injury or illness that we could see, although she suffered from some broken ribs a few months ago that seem to have healed nicely."

"Good, thank you my friend." Reddington slung his arm around the surgeon's shoulders, leading him out of the room, Mr Kaplan on their heels.

xxxxx

An hour or so later a nurse came out and announced that she was awake and could be talked to. Something on her face concerned Reddington, and he pressed her for more information.

"Well, Agent Keen has to be in considerable pain right now, and she's not talking much, but she's refusing all pain relief." She paused briefly, considering her words. "Refusing is wrong, it's more like she politely declines. If she was showing any emotion, then I'd think she was scared, but, erm, well I suppose you'll see for yourself." With that the nurse hurriedly excused herself and the three men headed into the makeshift recovery suite.

Cooper had to work hard not to gasp audibly at what he saw. Before she was taken, he would have described Agent Keen as a force of nature, but now she looked tiny and fragile in the hospital bed. It wasn't just her skeletal appearance that was making her seem so diminished, something in her demeanour, in her clasped hands and downcast eyes, made her seem so much less than the woman he had last seen.

"How are you feeling?" Reddington's voice as he sat down next to the bed, was gentle, as though trying not to startle a wild animal.

"Good thank you, sir." her thin, weak reply brought tears to Aram's eyes. He couldn't cope with the note of obsequience in her words, and he ducked out of the room.

"Let him go" Reddington instructed as Cooper turned to follow. "He's been through enough tonight, we should give him his space." He turned back to the bed.

"Lizzie, look at me" he continued, but blinked in mild surprise when she didn't respond. He touched her hand instead, deciding to try a different approach. "What do you remember, my dear?"

"Sir?" The question was fearful, as though she expected to be punished for not understanding.

"Do you remember your name?"

"Nothing, sir." This time she was still quiet but sounded more certain. Red picked up her hand and kissed it very gently before leaning his head down onto it and sighed.

He only lifted his head again when a nurse came in a shooed them both out so that she could rest.

xxxxx

When Aram returned to the gym the next morning it was completely empty of medical equipment or personnel. Cooper seemed unsurprised when he reported this, reassuring the technician that she was perfectly safe, but implying that they may not see her for a while.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N - There's a bit of hurt and a bit of hope going on here...

xxxxx

Reddington had spirited her to a secluded cabin some 50 miles outside of Washington. While she was on bed rest, he sat with her, fed her, watched over her in her sleep, even read to her. She slowly began to gain weight and some colour returned to her skin. Mr Kaplan helped to bathe and dress her, but otherwise she left the two of them alone, not wanting to give her employer cause to change their arrangement.

After a couple of weeks the doctor gave her the all clear, saying that she would benefit from getting up and starting to regain some strength, and that a bit of fresh air wouldn't go amiss either. Red smiled gratefully at this news; he was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic being cooped up in the cabin for so long and, whilst he might be able to endure it fine (after all he'd put up with worse in the past) he was glad to be able to get outside.

He started to take her on small walks around the cabin, although their route was limited to level ground as she was confined to a wheelchair. He did manage to make her walk small amounts, although he could never be sure if he was pushing her too much as she never complained.

Her lack of recognition, however, made his heart ache. She barely spoke, only ever responding when asked a question directly, and then only with a handful of words. If he asked her to do something then she would do it without complaint or disagreement, but afterwards she would just sit or stand in silence until instructed otherwise. This worried him more than anything as he had always admired Lizzie's fight, even when it was directed at him.

xxxxx

After a few days, she had been able to walk the entire length of the path to the cabin with Reddington supporting her by the elbow. Reddington praised her a lot, hoping that this would illicit some sort of a response, although he wasn't surprised when it yielded no results. Instead he decided to try a different approach.

"Lizzie," he tried to use her name as often as possible, "would you like to join me in the lounge this evening after you've had a rest? It might be nice for you not to spend the whole night in your room."

"Yes, sir, that would be nice." Her voice was quiet and soft and she smiled obediently, but he'd expected nothing less.

Later that evening, after Reddington had knocked on her door to wake her and suggest again that she join him, she made her way into the lounge. He was momentarily confused when he realised that she was wearing a bathrobe; he hadn't told her to bathe and she wouldn't have decided to do that herself, such was the nature of her conditioning.

It was almost like watching a car crash, time seemed to slow down. As Reddington sat there confused, horrified, she undid the robe and slipped it from her shoulders, allowing it to pool on the floor around her feet. It took him a moment to realise that she was naked in front of him, offering herself to him in an almost robot-like way.

He recovered from his horror quickly and launched himself towards her, gathering up her robe from the floor and bundling it around her with shaking hands. As he did so, the cabin door opened and Mr Kaplan walked in. She opened her mouth to talk as she shut the door behind her, but the scene playing out in front of her gave her pause. Instead, she surveyed the room for a second before closing her mouth, nodding, and striding over to them.

"Let me do it, dear." She firmly but gently prised Reddington's hands off the robe and wrapped it around her before guiding her back to the bedroom.

She emerged ten minutes later to find Reddington sat by the fire, staring into an untouched glass of scotch. His face was dark and he was obviously deep in thought as he didn't notice her return until she touched him on the shoulder.

"I've explained to Elizabeth that you don't want her for that, Raymond." The disgust in her voice was palpable, and Reddington shuddered slightly. "But it might be better if she hears it from you as well."

"I..." Reddington's voice was rough and filled with emotion. He swallowed and tried again. "I hadn't contemplated that she would do something like that, Kate, I had never expected her reprogramming to be so... thorough." He sighed and lowered his head to the palm of his free hand. "I worry that I'll never be able to bring her back."

"Just give it time," Kaplan's voice was almost maternal, the revulsion of a moment ago stripped away and replaced by an authoritative edge. "She needs you not to give up on her and she needs you not to give up on yourself either. You need to be the one to lead her out of this, nobody else is going to be able to do that."

Settling down in the chair opposite Reddington, Mr Kaplan indicated that he should pour her a measure of scotch too, and they whiled away the rest of the evening in companionable silence.

xxxxx

Reddington never slept well, even when he didn't have so much on his mind, so now he often sat up late into the night. One night, a few weeks after they had first arrived at the cabin, he was sat in front of a dying fire, staring deep into a glass of scotch, the rain falling against the windows lulling him into an almost meditative state. A strange noise roused him suddenly from his reverie, one he could only describe as the keening of an injured animal.

Standing, he went in search of the source of the noise, and tracked it back to her bedroom. As he drew close, the keening turned into a wail, the wailing into a scream, and threw open the door to her room, terrified that someone might be hurting her. As he entered, he saw her curled up in the foetal position, her hands over her head, her face twisted into a mask of terror, and then it hit him that she was having a nightmare.

Rushing to her side, Reddington gathered her up into his arms and held her close to him, whispering soothing nothings as her screams subsided. He sat like that for what seemed like hours as the tension finally left her body and she began to relax into that susceptible state on the edge of sleep and waking. As he felt the sleep ebbing from her, he leant down and whispered to her a phrase he had said to her once, right before they embarked on an undercover operation in the early days of their relationship.

"You have me. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

He could feel her face shift gently against his arm as she whispered "Red".

And there, sat on her bed, with the first light of dawn seeping through the window, he smiled genuinely for the first time in so many months as tears fell from his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - in which Reddington f*cks up, just a little bit...

xxxxx

A couple of days after Liz's nightmare, Reddington left to head for Washington straight after making breakfast. He felt concerned leaving her on her own for the day, but he had other work for Dembe and Mr Kaplan, and his errand couldn't wait.

As he walked into the Post Office, everyone's eyes turned to him. He'd been keeping AD Cooper up to date with how Liz was doing, but otherwise he had had no contact with the taskforce, so he felt that he shouldn't have been surprised by their reactions, but he was even so.

"Reddington, nice to see you again." Agent Navabi's voice had a slightly sarcastic tone to it, but that wasn't unusual for her.

"It's a delight to see you too Samar, you are quite the sight for sore eyes." Reddington deliberately piled it on, trying to get a reaction from her, but she just looked him over, her face neutral.

Once the rest of the taskforce had gathered, Reddington started his presentation, having carefully dodged questions about Liz. He started once again by indicating some images on the screen. Aram immediately recognised the blonde lady, who seemingly wore a series of equally fussy suits.

"This is Nancy Walker, also known as 'Miss', the lady responsible for Agent Keen's ordeal. Ms Walker is, I believe from my research, the criminal known as the Window Cleaner. She takes high value individuals and slowly eradicates all trace of their personality through a combination of strong psychotropic drugs and various forms of hypnosis, alongside torture and heavy-duty conditioning. She turns them into what can be fairly described as human dolls, ready to be programmed for any number of uses.

"Previous victims of hers include the Croatian diplomat's daughter who assassinated the Chilean Ambassador, the pop singer Mario T who went missing and was found dead from apparent auto-erotic asphyxiation, and the millionaire businesswoman Maria Bartolli, who signed over her majority share of a global multinational company to a Saudi prince despite a history of campaigning against this particular individual's human rights abuses."

"Has Keen given you any information about this woman's methods? Does she know any of the drugs used that we can trace? Or even a location for where she does her work?" Agent Ressler looked eager to move on this particular Blacklister, a sentiment reflected in the faces of the whole group.

"Unfortunately, Donald, Elizabeth is not currently in a position to give us any information about what she has been through. She has a lot of work ahead of her before she reaches that point." Reddington's voice was very serious and there was a mournful silence in the war room.

Eventually Cooper broke the silence, asking the question that everyone was too scared to ask.

"Red, how do you know that she's still in there? How can you be sure that her personality hasn't been destroyed completely?"

Red pursed his lips in thought for a moment, his eyes unreadable.

"Because she talks in her sleep."

xxxxx

It was late when Reddington pulled his car back up to the cabin. He was kicking himself for not making lunch for Liz before he left that morning, as he suspected that she wouldn't have made any for herself. He hadn't liked leaving her alone for so long, but he had reached a stalling point in his own investigations into Nancy Walker and now he required the resources of the FBI to apprehend her.

Taking a large wooden box and several bags of groceries and take out from the boot, balancing them carefully, he made his way inside. Liz was right where he had left her, sat at the dining table, her back to the door. It saddened him that she didn't appear to have moved for the entire time that he'd been gone, some 9 hours or so, but it didn't surprise him.

"So, Chinese or Indian?" Putting his load down on the counter, he turned around and held up the two take out bags. What he saw made his heart fall; sat on the table in front of her, untouched, was the breakfast that he had made before he left that morning. As he stared, shocked, everything suddenly fell into place.

He realised that he had encouraged her to eat at every mealtime, effectively granting her permission, and without that permission she was unable to eat. She must be starving, she was still too thin to miss meals for a whole day, and yet she sat there, seemingly untempted.

Rushing to her side, he hugged her closely for a moment, smoothing her hair gently. "I'm sorry Lizzie, I'm so, so sorry." He muttered apologies into her ear before kneeling and turning her chin so that he could look into her blank, unfocused eyes.

"Listen to me Lizzie," his voice was harder, sterner now. "You never need to wait for permission to eat ever again. You do not need permission from me or anyone to move, to speak, to feel, anything, do you understand me? Never!"

As his voice broke slightly she focused her eyes on his for the briefest moment and, in that moment, he believed he saw the steel and fire that he'd so loved about his Lizzie. As the vacancy that he'd become so familiar with slid back into her eyes he realised that he had been holding his breath.

Exhaling, he stood, threw away the untouched breakfast, and served both of the take out meals that he had bought. He was pleased to see that she served herself a generous plate of noodles and started to eat them straight away, and with some gusto.

xxxxx

Later that evening, as they sat in front of a cosy fire, Reddington picked up the wooden box and opened it. He fiddled with the intricate mechanism inside and soon a beautiful melody began to waft out into the room.

"This is the Anniversary Waltz," Reddington's voice was low and soft, almost hypnotic. "I restored this box for you after your father died, you said it made you feel safe. Your father, or should I say your adoptive father, Sam, was a very good man, and he loved you dearly. He used to sing you this song when you had nightmares as a little girl." Reddington paused then for a moment, reminiscing about his former friend. "He used to call you 'Butterball', do you remember? And when he died you told me these little stories about him to help you remember him better."

Reddington spent the rest of the evening telling Liz the stories about Sam that she had told him. Adding some of his own recollections of him, he wove a twisting, meandering tale, trying to build a picture of her father for her, made of memories.

When he couldn't talk any longer, couldn't weave in any more tales, he looked at her for the first time since he had started, just in time to catch a single tear as it ran down her cheek.

His heart swelled and the faintest smile graced his lips; he knew how he was going to bring her back.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N - I'm sorry this is such a short chapter, it just felt right to break the chapters where I did.

xxxxx

As the weeks went by, Reddington spent his days helping the taskforce to find Nancy Walker, and his evenings telling Liz stories. Some nights he would dedicate to one person who had meant a lot to her, maybe Aram, or Cooper, or Ressler, he even told her tales about Tom. On other nights he spent their time telling her about herself. He told her about her childhood, her time at the Mobile Psych Unit, their adventures together on the taskforce.

Ever so slowly she started to show more and more flashes of herself. He saw the spark behind her eyes more frequently and, when he was gone, she would clean the cabin or sit and listen to music. Evenings slowly changed from the times when Reddington would tell stories, to conversations, stilted and uncertain at first, but later more confident and wide-ranging. She never seemed entirely like herself, even in those moments, but it was closer, and it spurred him on to try more.

At night she would often wake him from a restless sleep, screaming in terror at something in her dreams, begging them to stop hurting her, promising them she'd be good, or repeating over and over that her name was nothing and that she was nothing. His heart broke over and over again, hearing her plead, but he knew that the nightmares were a necessary side effect of her slow recovery.

xxxxx

Aram was the first member of the taskforce to come and visit Liz, Reddington thought that he deserved that honour.

"Agent Keen, you look so much better! Are you feeling better? Of course you must be feeling better, I mean, Mr Reddington has been looking after you, so how can you not be." He shut up, blushing slightly when he realised that he was babbling.

"Aram?" Liz sounded uncertain, but Reddington was pleased that she looked the other agent in the eye, even if it was only for a moment. "Red has told me about you. We watched Doctor Who together, didn't we?" Reddington wasn't easily surprised, but this startled him; he had never mentioned that particular incident to her before.

xxxxx

That night, after Aram had left, Reddington fell asleep in his chair in front of the fire. He slept more soundly than he had done in a very long time, and when he awoke he was amazed not to hear Liz's screaming. Shivering, he reached around to find a blanket and saw that the door to the cabin was wide open, a few flakes of snow drifting in on the wind.

His heart leapt into his mouth as adrenaline coursed through his veins, clearing any traces of sleep from his brain. He ran into Liz's room, finding it empty and her bedding in disarray, before he grabbed his coat and headed out into the snow. There were footprints, a single set leading away from the cabin, slowly disappearing as the flurry increased. He followed them as quickly as he could.

After a little while the Reddington could no longer see the footprints he was following and he began to panic. But, as he pressed on in the direction he hoped they were leading, the snow eased for a moment, and he caught a glimpse of a huddled figure a few hundred yards to his right, and he hurried over.

Liz was bent over in the snow, wearing nothing but her pyjamas, her face twisted in a mask of grief. As he reached her, Reddington gathered her up into his arms, pulling his coat tight around them both as she sobbed into his shoulder until her body slumped against his from exhaustion.

"Raymond, I remember."

Slowly, Reddington helped her back to the cabin where they collapsed, shivering, in front of the fire. He moved briefly to add a few more logs and grabbed a blanket to cover them. He held her for the rest of the night while she cried, sobbing for her father's loss, for Tom's betrayal, for Meera's murder. She sobbed for the ordeal that she had been through until she couldn't cry any longer, and then, eventually, they both fell asleep on the rug.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N - Only one more chapter left after this, so you've almost made it!

Over the next few weeks, Elizabeth became stronger and more herself. With Reddington's help she began to rebuild pieces of her old life. He was loathed to leave her for long, especially with her captors still at large, and she was anxious whenever her wasn't around, but she became more accustomed to her own company.

In the evenings, she would tell Reddington whatever she could remember about her confinement. He knew that it would help for her to talk about the traumatic events, help to bleed to poison from her mind, and any information that she could give him would help him locate the Window Cleaner. She refused to talk about the torture methods employed, but Reddington guessed that it must have been deeply unpleasant as he continued to wake in the night to the sounds of her screams.

xxxxx

The taskforce eventually got a solid lead on Nancy Walker, after many months. Reddington continued to be of assistance with planning her eventual capture, even insisting that he brought in some of his security team to bolster the FBI's resources. Cooper wondered if Reddington was offering the help more as a way of ensuring Walker's apprehension, but he wasn't inclined to quibble.

The team gathered outside the warehouse that they had tracked Walker to on a cold, frosty February morning. Reddington had sent a message to say that he would be unable to join them for the op, although he didn't explain why. Cooper sent the various teams of agents, SWAT, and, of course, Reddington's security, to their specified locations around the building, hoping to surround the site and block off any possible escape routes.

Ressler and Navabi were in charge of a small group of field agents tasked with breaching the main entrance. On Cooper's word they broke down the steel door at the front and entered, weapons drawn.

According to their intel, they had expected a lot of heavily-armed resistance, but everything seemed eerily quiet as they entered. Ressler was concerned that they'd been tipped off, but they had to proceed regardless, so they carefully made their way through a series of rooms that looked like unused offices, until they came to a series of rooms that had obviously been used as guard rooms, several of which contained the dead bodies of their occupants. They could hear the other teams clearing rooms in their earpieces as they worked their way towards the centre of the building, reporting a number of other dead guards.

The next door the team came across was heavier than the cheap wooden doors on the offices, with a high-tech keypad operating the lock. The team had to wait several minutes for Aram to arrive with his laptop, and several minutes more for him to bypass the security systems open the door.

"You'd better stay with us Aram," Ressler's voice was hushed and his colleagues nodded their agreement. "I'd say we're about to head into the heart of the operation, so we might need your help with other security measures. Just make sure you stay well back and don't enter any rooms before we tell you to."

The first set of rooms the team encountered looked like a small medical suite, complete with an operating theatre, treatment rooms, and a couple of recovery rooms. The last of these were heavily fortified to stop their inhabitants escaping, although they were pleasant enough and had small, barred windows with lights behind them made to simulate daylight. Their progress through this area was slow as Aram had to hack the keypads on each door for them to clear the rooms. Most of the rooms were empty, but one of the beds contained a heavily-sedated young women recovering from some kind of abdominal surgery. EMTs were called in to help her, whilst the team moved on through the complex.

After another locked door, Aram followed his colleagues into a corridor lined with four heavy, locked doors, similar to the ones to the in the recovery suite, except these had hatches in the bottom large enough for a tray to be pushed through. When he hacked the first door, it swung open and an awful smell emanated from within. The team cleared the room, the smell seemingly coming from the terrible squalor that its previous occupant had been forced to endure.

The other three rooms were very similar to the first; dark, dank, and depressing. Each smelled as bad, except for the final room that Aram unlocked, which had a much stronger aroma. As the team made their way inside, they discovered a terrified boy, who must have only been in his late teens, cowering in a corner. He sat, blinking at the harsh light from the corridor, a panel on the wall, that the agents had found in every room they had entered, was attached to some sort of tube leading to a metal cuff around the boy's arm that Aram recognised as the same as the cuff Elizabeth had been wearing when they had found her.

While the team was finishing processing that corridor, before moving through the door at the far end, something in one of the cells caught Agent Mojtabai's eye. Something had been scratched into the concrete walls. As he got closer he used the torch on his cellphone to make out the markings. In a shaky hand, someone had written a list of names, each name less distinct than the last:

Elizabeth Keen  
Harold Cooper  
Donald Ressler  
Samar Navabi  
Aram Mojtabai  
Meera Malik  
Sam Milhoan  
Thomas Keen  
Dembe  
Raymond Reddington

Aram was glad that the darkness in the cell hid the tear that ran down his face.

xxxxx

The final door in the corridor was no harder to hack than the previous doors, but this one was different as it sat next to a large window into the room.

As Aram worked, he kept glancing into the room. Inside was what appeared to be a chair similar to the sort found at the dentist's, only dentists' chairs rarely had restraints. In one corner he could see a metal chair and table, also with various restraints, as well as another panel on the wall, and a pile of white rags, and he shuddered to think about what might have happened in this room.

The team entered as soon as the door swung open, and the tech analyst followed them nervously. There didn't appear to be any more doors leading out of this room; they had reached the heart of the complex.

It took Aram a moment to realise that the pile of white rags near the metal table was a person. Ressler made his way over, turning the beaten and bloody body over. It took them a little while to realise that this was the corpse of Nancy Walker.

Whatever had happened to Ms Walker couldn't have been pleasant; she had been beaten until she was almost unrecognisable and the awkward angle of her limbs suggested a lot of broken bones. She was also attached to the panel on the wall by a tube in her arm, like the teenager had been, and Samar suggested that maybe whoever had done this to her was trying to recreate whatever had been done to her victims.

"What do you mean 'whoever'?" Ressler's voice was incredulous. "This was obviously Reddington's work."

"Yes, well, can you blame him?"


	11. Chapter 11

With Cooper's permission, Aram called Reddington when they returned to the Post Office.

"Mr Reddington, I've got an update for you." He was less scared of the criminal now than he had been many months before, but he couldn't help being a little apprehensive nonetheless.

"Ah, Aram, one moment, I'm going to put you on speaker so that Elizabeth can hear you too." There was a rustling and the sound of Reddington muttering reassurances could be heard.

"Hello? Aram? Raymond said that you had news?"

"Erm, yes." Aram wasn't expecting Elizabeth to sound quite so unsure. A part of him had expected her to have returned to her old self once she had regained her memories, but then he recalled the horrendous conditions that she must have been kept in and he felt foolish. "We raided the facility where we believe Nancy Walker held you prisoner this morning. We managed to find two other captives, who are both receiving medical attention, but they seem to both be relatively unharmed. Neither of them seem to have been, well, erm..."

"Brainwashed?" Her voice was shaking now.

"That's lovely, Aram, but please, what news is there of Ms Walker?" Reddington's tone was impatient.

"She's dead." Aram heard Elizabeth whimper at his words, and the other side of the call went quiet for a moment before Reddington spoke again, the call no longer on speaker.

"Elizabeth has asked if she can come and see the body. If you could arrange that with Harold for me? The sooner the better."

Aram related the request to the Director. Cooper was reluctant, but Reddington seemed quite insistent, and he eventually agreed.

xxxxx

"It's over?" Elizabeth's eyes were wide and full of tears as she stood in the morgue, with Reddington at her side, the body of Nancy Walker on the table in front of them.

"It's over Lizzie." He caught her as her knees gave way, and he held her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

"The coroner's initial examination suggests that she died from a heart attack." Cooper moved to Keen's other side when she was finally able to stand again and helped Reddington to manoeuvre her out of the room and towards some seats in the corridor. "He said that there appeared to be some sort of foreign substance in her blood that he didn't recognise. He guessed that it was a toxin of some kind, but he couldn't identify it easily. Are you able shed any light on this for us Keen?"

"It burned." She stared at the floor as she answered Cooper's question, but her voice was determined and resolute. "She told me that the body never got used to the pain. She was right. She used it as punishment, to reinforce behaviour, because she felt like it. It was like… It was like molten metal burning through my veins, the pain was indescribable."

They sat in silence for several minutes, Reddington stroking the small of Keen's back reassuringly. After a while, they all stood without speaking and left the building.

Once Keen was settled in the back of Reddington's car, Cooper drew the other man to one side.

"Officially, Red, I am unable to condone any part you may have played in what happened to Nancy Walker."

Reddington nodded, his lips pursed, before he turned back to the car.

"Reddington?" He turned back for a moment. "Bring her back to us now."

xxxxx

Soon after the death of Nancy Walker, Reddington bought Keen an apartment a quiet, pleasant area of Washington DC. He lived there with her for the first few weeks, accompanying her everywhere, taking her shopping, to her therapist's office, for dinners in cosy restaurants.

Eventually he began spending more and more time at his other safe houses, allowing her the time and space to learn to stand on her own once more, although he always ensured she made it to her appointments.

Almost a year to the day after she was taken, Agent Elizabeth Scott Keen returned to work at the bureau and to the Blacklist.

xxxxx

A/N - So, there you have it folks! I feel a bit bad for how little agency Keen had in this story, but I kinda wanted to explore Reddington's protective nature where she's involved. Hopefully, if I write anything else in the future then I'll be able to make Keen a little more than a plot device. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to review it, I'd love to know what you all think.


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